To Hold Our Destiny
by Jack Lantern
Summary: Previously Without Further Ado-AU Fingolfin was married, but who was his wife and why didn't she go with him? Here is my take on that story.
1. The Kiss

Dislcamier: Not mine.

**Chapter One**

**Without Further Ado**

There are two temples that stand on Tirion upon Tuna. One was dedicated to the worship of Manwe and Varda and was by far the most eye catching. The architects had built the temple on tall and majestic proportions. The white marble was vaulted into the sky with gold gleaming on the doors, windows and capped the towers that seemed to brush the cloud themselves. Gems sparkled from the gold where loving hands had placed them long ago and the precincts were always milling with people, smiling and prayerful. Manwe and Varda were constantly within the temple walls greeting and teaching the worshipers who came to listen at their feet.

Across a wide deep valley from the golden temple of Manwe was another temple—a low building that appeared smaller but was boarder with many wide and open porches. Built of soft grey stone, this temple was unadorned save for the gentle curling vegetation that grew from garden dotted here and there among the walk ways. Sometimes the misting clouds were lower on the temple and the building would be lost to the mist and some said it was just as well—few took the long walk to worship there. It was the temple of Eru Ilúvatar.

It should not be supposed that the elves of Valinor loved their God any less than his servants for this would never be so. But Eru rarely appeared if ever in his temple. Those who chose his temple for their dwelling place who those who were singularly devoted to his Worship. He was a loving but distant God. He created the Valar for those who needed the closeness of a companion. He loved, he watched from a distance.

The temple was not lonely however. A small population lived within the cool walls of Eru's temple separate and solitary from the rest of the world, but content to be so. They lived simple lives of singing; dancing and study. They flitted from porch to porch in somber silver robes, each crowned with a silver circlet that wove into their hair. Ethereal even for their own kind, these were born to their positions within the temple and lived their lives within its grounds. They rarely left but for a celebration of the royals and even then their presence seemed determined by the mood of their leaders. The House of Eru, called the House of Calanon meaning Light, was another little world to the people of Valinor.

To say that the people of the temple of Eru were aloof might be a disservice to them. They were separate for a purpose, a good and holy purpose; yet some felt there was a selfish satisfaction that some drew from the solidarity this life. Among those who thought so was Finarfin, the golden prince of the Nolder. He and his elder brother Fingolfin stood at the foot of the steps leading to Manwe's temple and looked across the valley to where the House of Eru was just visible through the mist.

"Selfish, that's what they are,' he said again shifting the golden vessel in his hands. He was wearing a long clothe of gold robe that brushed his sandaled feet. His hair was suitably free of constraint as was fitting those visiting the temple, but the aggravated expression on his handsome face was ruining the effect of his golden visage, "Selfish and self righteous. They think all they need to do is live out their lives without lifting a finger to the rest of the population. It's as if they don't care what happens to the rest of us."

Beside him, Fingolfin yawned. Towering above his brother, the first son of Indis looked unbothered and mildly amused by his younger sibling's prattle. Clearly unaffected by the lives of the Calanon elves, Fingolfin had no opinion in regard to the goings on the temple. Being raised in a devote family, Fingolfin couldn't help developing a respect for the Valar, but he was not plagued with feelings that he must help save the world from itself. His nonchalance was expressed by his attitude and bearing as well.

Unlike his brother, Fingolfin was wearing his broadcloth and leather riding gear that was stained with horse sweat and worn to white in several places. His hair was braided down his back, the lean and hungry features brought into contrast by the deep ebony of the strands. He did not carry a gift for the Valar and it was clear to the other worshipers that Fingolfin was not at the temple to meet with the gods inside.

"Does it really matter little brother?' he drawled leaning his weight on his brother's shoulder. Finarfin looked annoyed and gently shrugged his brother off, "I'm sure that you care enough for half the island if it comes to that. Besides, the elves of Celadon are not suited to live amongst the rest of us. If they were than they wouldn't live alone on the top of a cloudy mountain.

"Every elf should be concerned with the well being of the rest of Valinor." Finarfin said stubbornly, "Father is."

"Yes. However, Father is unique and unlike everyone else in Valinor," Fingolfin answered. He couldn't help but be a trifle bored repeating this information to his brother. It was a fact long established that Finwe was one of a kind and different from every other elf in the world.

"Feanor is different," Finarfin said quietly his celery green eyes dropping to the ground before him, "He is the spirit of living fire--even he cares more."

"Feanor bores me," Fingolfin answered suddenly leaving his languor behind. The subject of his eldest brother was not one on which he chose to dwell, "He may seem different--even fascinating, but there is a strange sameness about him that makes him unremarkable. If this were Arda Marred and such a son was born into the world than perhaps Feanor would be worth the fuss, but this is Valinor--the Blessed Realm--everyone is special here."

Finarfin leveled his eyes on his tall brother and said, "You say that well Fingolfin, but I know in your heart you don't mean it."

Finarfin didn't explain further but there was no need too. Both of the second sons of Finwe knew that deep in the breast of their siblings there lay a profound love for their elder half brother. He did not treat them with much love, more cold civility, but they were all drawn to his fervent life and vitality. They all knew that Finwe favored Feanor—many of them tried to pretend they didn't care—yet Finarfin was right—they couldn't help but love him.

"If you're going into the temple you might as well hurry," Fingolfin said brusquely, "I've things to do."

"Weren't you coming in?" Finarfin asked in surprise, "You said you were."

Fingolfin flashed a smile at his brother, "I shall—but today the temple of Eru calls to me and it is there I shall worship."

"Among the careless?" Finarfin said sternly but with a slight teasing pull to his mouth.

"Among the careless," Fingolfin agreed, "It might be pleasant to get away from all of you driven and vigilant folks. One always feels one must be doing something of import. Perhaps among them I shall have time to relax. Besides, I could use a long walk."

"I shall see you at the house this evening," Finarfin replied as he started up the steps to the temple.

"Oh, little brother?" Fingolfin called leaning against the pedestal of the stairway, a teasing air playing over his features, "Is Earwen worshiping today?"

Finarfin flushed faintly pink and refused to answer, resuming his walk to the temple with the echo of his brother's laughter ringing over the courtyard.



The morning had dawned clean and cool, a delicate dampness hung on everything in Calanon. The wards where the priests and priestesses slept were slowly filled with the delicate early light of Laurelin, the pink tendrils spreading down the grey walls and resting on the slumbering elves. There was little to no furniture in the sleeping room, simple mats served each as a bed and these were easily rolled up and tucked aside in the day time. Long windows that reached from the floor almost to the ceiling stretched nearly every wall. A few candles winked in their sconces on the walls creating circle of yellow illumination that were overwhelmed by the superior light of the golden tree. One of the elleth lifted her head as the light touched her and allowed her face to be bathed in the light.

It was a serious, oval shaped face, clear and ageless, grey eyes set a little too close together for beauty. The light shone in her eyes brightly as she absorbed it from the window. Rising to her knees, the elleth raised her hands at shoulder height and cupped her hands as if to catch the precious brightness if only for a moment. Strangely the light hovered still over the woman as if wanting to hesitate with her a fraction more than usual. An ellon entering the room on silent feet paused during this little benediction until the light subsided reluctantly away and the room was once again in twilight. The elleth lowered her hands gently and sighed.

"Good morning, Mnemosyne," the ellon whispered.

"And to you, Nestaron," Mnemosyne answered in the same hushed whisper.

He looked out the window where the light was waning down the mountain side. The subdued radiance cast the golden beams up to the temple's level, "The morning lingers again."

Mnemosyne bowed her head, "Shall you woke the others or shall I?"

Nestaron shook his head, "I will extinguish the candles first and then we'll wake them together."

"Very well," Mnemosyne rose to her feet fluidly and gracefully. She wore a loose grey tunic and trousers as did Nestaron and the rest of the temple inhabitants. She had scarcely risen when she went to a low table near the inner door where circlets of silver lay. They were simple unpretentious items being made of a single band of silver curved to the shape of the brow and dipped to a point between the brows. At the ends of the band long ropes of silver hung and were braided swiftly into the hair of the wearer. Mnemosyne completed this work easily, her fingers moving confidently combining the brown and silver strands without the aid of a mirror. The force of habit was strong.

Once finished with this, she went into the courtyard and washed her face in a pool of gurgling water that trickled from a fountain shaped like a dolphin. The water was icy cold and refreshing to her skin and she whispered a prayer of thanks as she washed away the staleness of the night. Far below the city was coming to life slowly. Across the valley the temple of Manwe and Varda was already drawing the morning worshipers and the smoke of increase rose from the altar. The smell floated on the air and over the valley and Mnemosyne inhaled the scent—it was so familiar, comforting.

A warm hand on her shoulder made Mnemosyne turn. Nestaron smiled, "Come, the others are awake."

The rest of the temple family was awake and greeting each other in quiet voices as they washed and put on their circlets. The small crowns had been made by a smith from Arda long ago and while the number of priests and priestesses altered the number of circlets was always enough. Some of the members, Mnemosyne knew, would leave for various reasons, but whether or not they stayed for a life time, the elves that chose to live in Calanon were forever changed. As they all moved into the porch that dominated the front of the temple, Mnemosyne couldn't help but feel the tangible bonds that wrapped around them all.

"Mnemosyne, would you lead the dance this morning?" Nestaron asked her.

The rest looked at her for an answer. Mnemosyne looked over her companions, golden haired Isle, dark Istuion and many, many others who were equally capable. Normally the duty fell to Mnemosyne as one of the eldest priestesses; she had been at the temple nearly as long as Nestaron and Aearion, a short, sturdy elf with bristling silver hair. Of the three the dance came most naturally to her, but something about the morning whispered to her to step aside for this ritual. Today was not the time for leading, but for following and observing; what she was looking for, she did know, but she must be aware.

"Not this morning, thank you," she bowed her head, "Isle, perhaps if you care to?"

"Certainly," the elleth answered moving to the front of the group. Mnemosyne took up a place in the second line beside Aearion who beamed a smile at her.

"Feeling humble this morning my dear?" he asked.

"No indeed," she answered as they moved delicately into the first movement, "I am listening."

"And waiting to hear what?" he quizzed.

Mnemosyne answered, "I will know before the day is out, I feel sure. Although it has been a long time since I've had a listening."

"When was the last time?" Aearion asked his burly form moving with a grace that was surprising in such a short body.

"Before I came to Calanon," she answered softly, "In Arda."

Aearion frowned toward the horizon, "do you think that you will leave us?"

"I do not know," she answered her voice calm, "I cannot deny that the thought had come to me, and I cannot say that the idea isn't worrying. I love Calanon—more than all of Valinor."

"Don't say more, my dear," Aearion reprimanded her gently, "Because if Eru calls you away it will be for your greater happiness. Who is that insolent fellow?"

Distracted by Aearion's sudden change of mood, Mnemosyne followed his gaze without breaking the pattern of the dance. Over the edge of the porch, were a low wide stairway ran was a tall, handsome ellon, his dark face intent and amused watching the Calanonians in their morning devotion. There was a smirk around his lips as if he found them funny; when his eyes dropped to Mnemosyne however his expression changed. He looked taken aback and then confused and simply curious.

"I'll go see what he wants," she said.

"No, no," Aearion answered, "I—"

"Aearion," Mnemosyne cautioned, "He was looking at me, not you. I am sure I will have more success."

She slipped through the dancers around to where the stair began. The ellon noticed her leaving and looked disappointed at her departure but did not seem to realize she was coming to speak to him until she stood by his elbow. She was a tall woman but this elf was even taller than she was.

"Can I help you?" Mnemosyne asked.

He turned, a little startled and smiled, "I knew you would come after me."

It was her turn to be surprised her own answer dying on her lips, "How?"

"I just did," he answered.

"Would you like to go into the temple? I can take you there if you wish."

"I'm hardily dressed for the occasion," he answered gesturing to his sweat stained clothing, "And I don't worship often." His grin was disarming although his words shocked her, "Must I leave now?"

"You may remain as long as you wish," she answered, "But I must warn you that your observation of us was disrupting some of the priests --if you could observe without letting you amusement show to plainly on your face?"

"If the end result is seeing –speaking to you—no," he grinned handing a hand back through his thick black hair, "However, if you went walking with me everyone could be satisfied."

Mnemosyne bristled and was surprised at herself for it, "I do not leave the grounds unless the all the members leave for a celebration." Something was tugging at the back of her mind, something about this ellon was familiar, and he reminded her of someone she had seen before.

"And I am not much of a celebration am I?" he smiled again especially at the flesh of pink that grew in Mnemosyne's cool cheeks, "Well, we will part friends—we shall be friend-shan't we?"

"I—do –who," Mnemosyne stuttered.

"Don't tell me, I already know," he laid a finger on her lips to stop her, "And if I am wrong you may tell me—you name is Moneta isn't it?"

Mnemosyne could not answer for a full moment. An amazed look came over her face as she gazed up at him as if she had received a revelation. The color heightened in her cheeks and suddenly, quite suddenly Fingolfin leaned forward and kissed her.

It was a tentative, untaught kiss; his lips were soft against her own. At first she was so surprised, Mnemosyne was rigid with astonishment and then she leaned into him, her hands finding his own and their fingers intertwining.

Fingolfin broke the kiss pulling away but not letting her hands free. They stared at each other until they felt the gaze of the dancers. They looked up and caught the look on Aearion and Isle faces some couldn't help but look scandalized. It brought Mnemosyne back to herself. She coughed.

"I think you should go now," she said, "This is a temple precinct and this kind of behavior is strongly discouraged."

"I see. I will have to pull you away from the temple then," Fingolfin said readily. He pulled her closer but not too close, "I'll come back tomorrow or the next day or the next."

He cupped her cheek for a moment and was gone, striding over the path and out of sight. Mnemosyne touched her face and turned to Aearion who leaned over the porch to her level.

"Who was that?" he growled.

Mnemosyne opened her mouth and closed it again, "I—really have no idea."

**Reviews Please**


	2. The Calling

**Chapter Two**

"Mother," Fingolfin bellow as soon as he crossed the threshold, "Mother!"

"Here I am," she called out from her parlor, "Huss thy voice, Fingolfin, the baby is sleeping."

"Sorry," he whispered tip toeing in a kissing the top of his mother's golden head. The elaborate cradle next to his mother's chair issued fate breathing sighs. The baby girl lay on her tummy, her round bottom in the air, her rosy lips parted as she slept. Fingolfin caressed the wispy curls on the infants head and smiled, "Finally asleep?"

"It seems my babe prefers to rest on her stomach than on her back," Indis explained, "I like it not. Irimë is so frail of body that I fear she will have trouble breathing. During the afternoon I allow it as I watch her." Indis gestured to her needlework, "I find I complete far more work while she is sleeping."

"Poor mother—always a slave to your children," Fingolfin teased lovingly. He grabbed a low stool nearby and folded his long body up on it, taking a handful of tangled silks from his mother's work basket and beginning the laborious task of unwinding it.

Indis watched him amused, "A fair day for worship?" she quizzed.

"Finarfin found it so—although I think his piety stems more from his desire to see Earwen than to show adoration to the Valar." Fingolfin's eyes twinkled.

"Hush now, thy brother is of a devote heart. If his devotion brings him into the company of others of like spirit why should he not long for their companionship?" Indis admonished her eldest son sternly, but a light shone in her eyes, "And thou didst not go to worship?"

"Not at the temple of Manwe, no," Fingolfin answered his expression turning crafty, "I went to a far more holy place."

"More holy?" Indis' brow wrinkled, "Where?"

"To Calanon," Fingolfin murmured winding a brilliant scarlet thread around his fingers.

"The House of Ilúvatar?" Indis's hands froze in their work. Her face seemed to pale slightly and a tremor passed through her slender body. Fingolfin put one of his large hands over hers in concern.

"Mother?"

"Tis nothing," she forced a wan smile to her lips, "I—your Father went there after the fading of Míriel Serindë. He went to heal his heart—it was there he won the answer of the Valar and Ilúvatar himself for the right to marry me."

"I did not know," Fingolfin's voice was soft and gentle, "Does it bring you pain?"

"Nay, it does not," Indis answered, her grey eyes searching out those of her son, "But the mention of it was sudden and I did not expect to hear of it—least of all from you."

"Am I not as good a son as my brothers?" Fingolfin was suddenly annoyed with this comment, "I do not fawn upon the Valar, it's true, but I am not soulless and heartless."

"You are not a spiritual man, my son, it is a simple truth," Indis hastened to say, "You have never gone out of your way to worship or to pay homage to the gods. I do not fault you for it, I merely point out the fact. I think I may safely say that you have never gone to a temple of your own volition in your entire life."

"You needn't make it sound as if I scorn it," he answered rising and walking to one of the windows that looked down into the street, "I am—respectful of the Valar."

"But you went to the temple of Eru Ilúvatar," Indis repeated, "Why?"

"Why?" from the tone of his voice, Fingolfin seemed to be asking himself that very question for the first time, "I have never been there. Finarfin said something about the people of Calanon being aloof and distant and it sparked my interest."

"Yet you are not aloof," Indis smiled, "You have many friends and companions."

"I wasn't going to look for company," Fingolfin turned leaning his long arms along the sill, "I went to see what went on there."

The baby stirred and Indis reached in gently patting Irime's back. Fingolfin watched the action with a warm feeling in his heart. It seemed not too long ago that he was the babe receiving his mother's tender caresses. From her gentle ways and the quaint fashion of her speech, Fingolfin loved his mother. He went to her side and patted the golden waves she arranged like a cap around her head. She glanced up at him with a question in her eyes.

"Sweet mother, you want to know everything and yet you keep yourself from asking. When did you discover that was a sure way of finding out what you wanted to know?"

"Very young," Indis replied serenely.

"No doubt," Fingolfin smirked. He straddled a chair and rested his chin on his hands, "I found a woman there."

"Oh?"

"She is one of the priestesses I suppose—from her dress and carriage," Fingolfin mused, "She was very proper."

"All those who are called to the service of Eru Ilúvatar are very purpose driven. Some might call that devotion snobbery but that would be quite wrong. She is focused?"

"She seemed a too dreamy to be focused," Fingolfin shook his head, "They were dancing, all of them together, on the main porch and she was moving along but—not somehow. Her heart seemed to be in a different place."

"Her heart?" Indis quizzed, "Do not you mean her mind?"

"No," Fingolfin said surely, "I mean her heart. There was a subtle difference about her dancing that bespoke a difference in her heart. It was as if every movement meant something wonderful to her. It seemed –more like worship than the others."

Fingolfin glanced at his mother and saw her smiling broadly.

"What? What causes you to smile?" he asked quickly.

"Thou doest," she answered, "I would never have thought a worshipful dance could bring a reverence to your voice. You seem quite taken with her. What is her name?"

Fingolfin looked sheepish, "I did not ask it."

"But you spoke to her, I can see it in thine eyes," Indis persisted.

"Indeed, I did," Fingolfin was suddenly sly and evasive, "But she did not have the chance to give it and I did not ask."

"What didst thou _do_?" Indis stressed the verb.

"Nothing more than make sure she remembers me." Fingolfin answered. He was on his feet and bowing out of the room before his mother could make any further connections or draw anymore conclusions.

_**Moneta**_

Mnemosyne sat alone in the peace garden. She had brought her mat into the garden early that morning and rested there, her hands moving over a stringed instrument plucking a few strings and then writing down the notes on a scroll of paper that lay by her side. The black ink gleamed under Laurelin's light, the music notes moving across the page like tiny black beads suspended in place. The end result would be another hymn for the temple. The songs came to Mnemosyne as nature—she was not a singer as many of the others were—but she was a musician.

However, this day the music came slowly and haltingly. The fingers that plucked the strings were careful and hampered by thought instead of guided by instinct. A sour note broke from the harp and Mnemosyne frowned, a sigh breaking from her lips. She set the instrument down and sighed again.

"What is the matter with me?" she whispered.

"Moneta?"

She turned; Nestaron stood observing her, his hands folded together in the sleeves of his robe. He inclined his head toward her and repeated, "Moneta? He called you by that name."

"He did," she replied, "But I do not know where he learnt it."

"It is your father name is it not?" Nestaron prompted.

"It is," she paused and then said softly, "I have not been called by that name since I came from Arda. After I arrived I took my mother name."

"And this ellon knows your history?"

"I do not even know this ellon," Mnemosyne hurried to say and then found herself blushing at his raised brow, "I did not expect him to kiss me."

"It is not a crime, Mnemosyne," Nestaron smiled gently; "You need feel no shame about it. Instead, since then a pleasing color rests on your face. Perhaps this stranger's visit was a happy event?"

"As I said, I do not know him," Mnemosyne responded, "I do not make it a habit to greet strangers in that way."

Nestaron frowned and said, "Mnemosyne, you know I value your calm and control among the family here. Please, be frank with me."

Mnemosyne turned her head away, "I do not know what to say."

"How are you feeling?" he asked tenderly.

"Hollow," she answered. Nestaron couldn't help but be surprised.

"Why?"

"His kiss—I mean to say that his greeting brought back many memories that I have not thought on in hundreds of years. The emotions and feelings of leaving Arda, the people I knew there—it has all come rushing back to me. It made me feel bereft."

"By a kiss?"

Mnemosyne flushed again, "It seemed—fitting—familiar somehow; and yet I can say I have never been kissed in that way before."

"I see," Nestaron moved closer and took a seat on one of the many stone benches, "Has it occurred to you that this is the answer to your listening? Aearion told me," he explained.

"Of course I thought it," she smoothed her tunic down a nervous movement that Nestaron did not miss, "I have done little else save think of it."

"And?"

"And I can go no further considering the fact that I do not know the man and he has not come back," Mnemosyne said the last with more than a little frustration in her voice. Her gray eyes were stormy as she raised them to Nestaron, "Am I doing something wrong?"

"My child," Nestaron comforted, "You never do anything wrong."

"I wish that were true," she answered. She placed her pen and ink into their case and gathered the scroll into her hand, "I am allowing this to effect my mood and thus my service, Nestaron, I am sorry."

"Mnemosyne," he smiled up at her, "Do not apologize; simply change if you feel the need of it."

"Very well," she took up her harp and said, "I will go back to the house now and go about my duties. If Eru sheds more light than I shall be content."

"And if he does not?"

"I shall strive to be," she called back.

Mnemosyne took the longer route back to the main temple house. She wanted the time to think and clear her mind. It was not important that she know who the ellon was or why he had kissed her. She need not dwell on the question of why she had responded so easily. And it was not important that his kiss had brought back all the tumultuous emotions of her long passed youth. It was not important.

That was why when she looked up; Mnemosyne was not startled to see the ellon striding toward her. Her heart did not beat faster and she did not flush.

"Good afternoon," he called out, "May I help you carry those?"

Mnemosyne was about to demur but he had taken her things away before she could properly reply. He fell in step beside her, towering over her, his long shadow shielding her from the tree's light.

"You might say hello," he offered after she continued in silence.

"Who are you?" she asked impulsively.

"I might ask you the same," he evaded, "And yet I don't."

"I am—unaccustomed to such manners as yours," she told him frankly, "You cannot blame me for that."

He chuckled deep in his throat and grinned, "No, indeed, I cannot. For it was I who kissed you wasn't it?"

"I did not mean that—exactly," Mnemosyne heard herself babbling and she felt a rising panic. She never babbled, "I meant—people are very honest and open when they come to see the temple."

"And there is the difference," he answered cheerfully, "I am _not_ come to see the temple. I am come to see you."

"We rarely receive visitors of that kind here," Mnemosyne tried to make conversation; "We are a very private people."

"I am sorry if I offend your finer sensibilities," he said and Mnemosyne was surprised to find his tone sincere. She looked up to find him gazing down at her honestly, "I meant no harm."

"There is no offence," She managed; his eyes were too keen and she looked away, "Merely, confusion."

"Really? I do not think I have ever inspired that emotion before," he answered, "Anger, yes. Adoration, yes. Love, yes; but confusion?"

Mnemosyne looked at him again, "You are—strange sir."

He inclined his head, "Thank you."

"There are few who could inspire such feelings in any. Yet it would appear common with you. Would you please share you name with me?"

"If you will allow me _not_ to ask you yours," was his causal reply.

"If you wish."

"I am Nolofinwe, of the House of Finwe," he said it calmly but slowly as if reluctant to divulge his secret, "First son of Indis."

Mnemosyne was stunned, "Indeed?"

"No, I am lying," he deadpanned. She looked up at him and he smiled brightly down.

"You should not speak like that," Mnemosyne told him amusement lifting her tone, "People might believe you."

"I am sincere in this," he answered stopping and facing her, "I am Nolofinwe."

"Oh, I believe you. I was talking about the lying," she smiled.

His eyes softened, "You have a lovely smile, Moneta."

Her smile dimmed, "Why do you call me that?"

"It suits you," he said, "You know what it means?"

"Yes," she hesitated and replied, "Memory."

"My name means wise," he told her, "Which, if I am fair to my brothers, is not my strongest point."

Believing he meant Feanor, she asked, "You feel overshadowed by your brother?"

He glanced at her sharply, "By both of them since you ask it. Finarfin is wise for one so young; already he is asked to my father's counsels."

"And Feanor?"

"Is himself," Fingolfin said simply, "I cannot say more than that."

"Considering who he is, more is unnecessary," she answered, "But I would never allow the charms of my brothers to surpass my own abilities. If I had brothers."

"Moneta, I would have agreed if you hadn't point out that you do not have siblings." Fingolfin chided.

"Do you know of me then?" Mnemosyne asked him, "Have you spoken to any of the other priests or priestesses here?"

"You mean to say did I pry into your personal affairs," Fingolfin answered surmising her true meaning, "The answer would be no, I did not. But if you had had brothers or even a sister you would have known how to deal with my teasing. I would not be such a shock to you if you had put up with a sibling doing the same to you."

"I suppose you are right." She fell silent.

He examined her expression, "Now I have said something to upset you. No, I have. No use to deny it."

"I was not planning to," she said crisply, "But since we have nothing more than a superficial acquaintance, I hardily feel the need to divulge my past to you."

"Fair enough," he answered.

They walked in silence until the path led them to the front stairway that led to the leveled porches. A few of the brothers and sisters were there practicing, talking or singing. No one took notice of them. Fingolfin put a foot on the lowest step and looked to her.

"Am I allowed?"

"All are allowed," she told him, "We do not keep any away who wish to come in."

"But my motives are not the purist," Fingolfin said frankly, "I do not come to worship here."

Mnemosyne took her things out of his grasp and he surrendered them easily enough, "I wonder that you say that. You do not know the history of this place I think."

"My father came here when the maid of Serindë faded," Fingolfin said his jaw tightening as if in some unpleasant memory.

"I meant the part of our history that none come here that are not summoned by Ilúvatar, "Mnemosyne felt her confidence coming back as she spoke of her beloved sovereign, "Some of us feel it like a clear call, others like a small tug and others—l"

"Do not feel it at all but come because they are curious?" Fingolfin finished.

"Others come when they have nowhere else to go," Mnemosyne said, "It is never clear what they come seeking but they always find it."

"Which were you?" he asked coming close to her, "Were you called?"

"I was."

"And tell me, Moneta, have you found what you are looking for?"

Her eyes dropped from his, ranging over the many porched temple grounds. Fingolfin took her hands when he realized she was trembling very faintly.

"What is it, Moneta?" he whispered.

"If you had asked me that question last week, I would have said yes," Mnemosyne brought her eyes back to him, "But now—I am unsure."

"Then we are two of a kind," Fingolfin smiled gently, "Both of us looking."

Suddenly she smiled, "We are not alike at all, Prince. Our searches will be very different from each others."

"Why?" he asked.

She turned to look at the citadel of the temple and said, "I know where to look."

_**Moneta**_

That evening the family gathered in the garden as was their wont after the evening meal. The babies, Findis and Irime were playing on the ground; the younger of the two trying to put everything into her mouth. Finarfin lounged beside them taking away the flower buds and ants the infant was endeavoring to eat while accepting the posies Findis brought to him in abundance. Finwe had been cornered by Feanor near the pond and they talked in low voices. No one could guess what they spoke of, none of them would approach the pair during a conversation; it was an unspoken rule.

Indis sat reading a book, her slender fingers turning the pages, a slip of thyme in her hand poised as if ready to mark her place any moment. As the mother of young children, she had learned not to count on much time for her reading pleasures. But her eyes kept trailing from her book to her eldest son.

Fingolfin was playing with his hounds near the bottom of the garden. The animals leapt and danced around him adoringly as he put them through their paces. It was clear to see that his mind was in another place. He had not spoken much during the meal other then sneaking bits of dessert to the little girls when he was not supposed to. His blue eyes were thoughtful and preoccupied; in these moments he reminded her of Finwe most. And knowing that he was of a similar temperament, she worried.

"Son," she called out, "come sit with me."

"Very well," he answered.

He turned to dogs over to the kennel man and loped up the garden. Findis ran to him and he swung her up into the air to hear her squeal. She kissed him and stuck dandelions behind his ears before wiggling down. He walked passed Irime who cooed and waved and he patted her downy head. Finarfin, as very observant elf, saw his brother perform these actions 

without much thought, and he cast a curious glance after his older brother as he settled back to playing with the baby.

"Did you need something?" Fingolfin asked before sitting down.

"Nay," Indis patted the chair beside her, "I just thought to have thee near me."

"What are you reading?" he asked not caring what the answer was.

"History," Indis explained, "When I was a girl my brother tried to educate me well, but I was flighty and left my lessons constantly. Now I feel that I would like to know more about the world at large and find history the best possible way to discover it. Which is less than you do."

"I beg your pardon?" Fingolfin asked.

"You do not merely sit and wait for histories to be written so you may read them. You go right to the source."

"I don't think—"

"Temple, son, the temple," she reminded him, "Thy feet took you there today did they not?"

"Yes," he said broodingly.

"Yes," she repeated, "And if I were truly interested I would go right to the source. Instead, I read."

She waited but he said nothing. He watched Findis give a shiny green beetle to the baby and watched Finarfin take it away as the baby tried to jam it into her mouth.

"What are you saying mother?"

"I am saying that if you are searching for something," Indis told him, "Then you should not wander around this house looking for it. The answer does not lie here and no amount of looking will help you find it."

"Who told you I was looking for anything?"

"I know you, my son, I know you."

"It is a bad time to go away," Fingolfin replied, "Father needs me at home."

"My honest boy," she chided, "do not lie."

"Mother when have I lied to you?"

"Never," was the calm response, "But the honor you do me you should at least bestow on yourself."

"What is that?"

"Be honest with thyself," Indis said, "Do not let your pride rule you. It is a cruel failing to live on pride and I would never wish such a fate on thee."

"Mother," he said quietly, "Thou art a wise woman."

"And thou shalt be a wise man," was her reply, "If thou wouldst only allow thyself to be."

"Yes, and if we could only hold our destiny in our hands," Fingolfin answered.

"Do not ask for such a power," she cautioned, "It does not belong to us. Rather, use the power that is given you and find the answers you seek. There are none who would stop you."

"Then I will go and search," he said rising, "But I promise one thing."

"What is that my son?"

He smiled, "I will always be back for dinner."


End file.
